


The Mayor's Garden Party

by EccentricAuthors



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: A maid gets slapped, Blowjobs, Dutch sucks off Arthur, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, face fucking, just a warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 11:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19004503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EccentricAuthors/pseuds/EccentricAuthors
Summary: Dutch and Arthur thumb their noses at the Mayor and his rich guests in an exciting and dubious way.





	The Mayor's Garden Party

With the burst of fireworks over Arthur’s head and the firm grip of Dutch’s fingers on his shoulder, his attention was ripped back into the present. 

 

“Did he mention something about Cornwall?” Dutch asked him lowly, lips so close they nearly brushed the hair just beginning to curl over Arthur’s ear. 

 

“Yes.” Came Arthur’s reply, hushed and tight as he tried to stop a shiver from running down his spine. Dutch had taken him by surprise, reappearing from the crowd of the party—he hadn’t seen him practically all night, but Arthur figured he was doing his thing, as Hosea put it, social climbing.

 

“Follow him, I’ll tail after you.” 

 

“Though you’d want to stay ‘n watch the fireworks.” 

 

“I’m rather  _ tired _ of mingling with these vile toads of men. Now, go.” He ordered, giving Arthur a slight shove towards the servant, who was slipping off and out of sight into the crowd. 

 

Arthur started forward, taking long strides across the garden floor and trying to keep his eyes on the white clad servant. Dressed in all white, it turned out he wasn’t too hard to keep track of, but weaving through the various men and women proved more difficult. He awkwardly bumped into a few men and gave short, hurried apologies to a few women who’s skirts he stepped on.

 

The servant stopped abruptly and turned to greet an officer standing at the exit of the garden, a short conversation ensued, but Arthur could barely hear their voices over the noise of the party in the background. Something or another about Signor Bronte and his men, but it wasn’t overly clear to Arthur. Briefly, he peered over his shoulder to see if he could spot Dutch, but the darkness was creeping and strained his vision. There would be no spotting Dutch in this light.

 

Arthur turned his attention back to the servant and followed him inside the house. Dipping to the right, the servant began lecturing a maid, rather harshly in his opinion, before even more harshly slapping her across the face. He flinched at the smacking sound of his palm colliding with her cheek, anger spiking in his chest. The bastard shouldn’t be handling a lady like that, regardless of what she’d done or said wrong. He had to shake it off and focus. Dutch had instructed him to follow the servant, and he’d be damned if he messed something so simple up.

 

The maid was dismissed, choking back tears and cradling her face, and the servant man descended the stairs without a second thought.

 

_ The office _ . The one the servant had been quick to lock up as they were being lead back to the party. Surely enough, the servant reopened the door and slipped inside, leading Arthur right back to it. 

 

He hung back for a few moments before quietly twisting the doorknob and entering the office. The room could hardly be called an office, all the walls were lined with bookshelves and the only break was for a white marble furnace tucked snuggly between them. Arthur broke his gaze away from the rows of books and headed straight for the desk, tugging on the middle drawer. When it didn’t budge, he picked up the letter opener on the desk and shoved it into the groove between the wood and lock. 

 

There was a soft click of the door shutting behind Arthur, and he froze, terror flooding his brain with all the curses Arthur had in his vocabulary. 

 

“Oh,  _ hoh _ , Arthur. I taught you better than to leave a door open, especially when it’s been previously closed.” 

 

A sigh, and the decompression of Arthur’s entire body at Dutch’s voice. “We rarely had doors  _ to _ close.” He replied, continuing to fiddle with the lock on the desk drawer. 

 

“That is true, that is  _ very _ true...” Dutch’s lips were at Arthur’s ear again when he replied, body pressing fully against his back. The movement shifted the whole atmosphere of the room, making it hot and almost suffocating to the point where Arthur could hardly breathe. 

 

“Dutch?”

 

“Yes, Arthur?” Dutch’s voice was doing that thing, where his inflection became feather light and almost mocking, but this time it was a little different, playfulness lining its edges. 

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Having a little fun in the Mayor’s office,” Dutch paused for a moment and removed his weight from Arthur’s back. “Set down the letter opener and turn around.” 

 

“Of all places, Dutch, I don’t think...” Arthur’s protest lost its force when he began to turn just as Dutch instructed, his palms bracing on the edge of the desk. 

 

“You worry far too much, Arthur.” Dutch took off his ridiculously tall hat and set it off to the side on the desk. His dark gaze never left Arthur, watching him like he was planning what to do with him right there in the moment. He might just be, being the way Dutch was sometimes. 

 

“There’s too many doors in here, there’s— _ there’s not even a door over there. _ ” Arthur motioned quickly to the archway leading out of the office and back into the main house. 

 

“Don’t play coy with me now, Arthur. You enjoy thumbing your nose at these rich bastards as much as I do and what better way than to...” With a grand motion of his hands, Dutch punctuated his sentence. 

 

“I ain’t sayin’ no I just...what if someone comes in, huh?”

 

“No one will.”

 

Arthur bit his lip at that and dragged a hand down his face. He trusted Dutch, and despite his better senses, he couldn’t stop himself from falling into his own desires. “I hope you’re right.”

 

A soft, low chuckle came from Dutch, his hands fell onto Arthur’s legs and squeezed them reassuringly. His lips followed, pressing against the bared skin above Arthur’s collar. Reached up with one hand, Arthur threaded his fingers in Dutch’s hair, lightly tugging at the dark ringlets on his nape. 

 

What Dutch did next was so foreign to Arthur that he briefly entertained that this was a dream, and that he was instead back at camp sleeping on his cot with a fever. He pushed apart his thighs and knelt between them, looking up at Arthur with a look of unadulterated animalism—desire, lust, longing, however possible way there was to describe it. 

 

Arthur’s breath hitched when Dutch pressed the heel of his palm down onto his crotch. Through the fabric of his pants, Arthur was already sporting half an erection and only needed a little more teasing to get him straining against his button. 

 

Skilled fingers popped loose the outer and inner button of Arthur’s trousers and freed his erection from its confinements. His cock fully exposed, Arthur was beginning to feel the heat in places besides just his excitement, in his ears and cheeks, which were set aflame by the sight of Dutch on his knees. 

 

Dutch held the base of Arthur’s cock between his forefinger and middle, lips just barely brushing over the flushed and swollen head. Eliciting a soft impatient noise from Arthur, Dutch finally wrapped his lips around the tip and began sucking softly. He was careful, gliding his tongue over the sensitive underside of Arthur’s cock as he slowly took more of him into his mouth. 

 

“Didn’t—didn’t realize you were  _ French _ , Dutch.” Arthur breathed out, threading his fingers in Dutch’s curls once more and giving them a harsh tug. The only reply from Dutch was a low moan, one that spurred Arthur to yank at his hair again, and this time push his partner flush onto his dick. 

 

A choke. Dutch tried to swallow, throat spasming once more before relaxing around Arthur’s intrusion. The pressure on the back of his head kept him there, snugly pressed against the fabric of Arthur’s trousers, and just as his jaw began to ache from the stretch, Arthur jerked him back up off his cock completely. 

 

Dutch was left voiceless, mouth still slightly agape and head reeling with the sudden swelter of heat in his gut left from what Arthur had just done. 

 

“You look good on your knees.” Arthur said slowly, a thumb coming up and tracing over Dutch’s spit slicked lip. 

 

Instead of waiting for a reply, Arthur tapped Dutch’s cheek in a silent motion for him to open his mouth again. With uncharacteristic obedience, Dutch’s mouth fell apart again, eyes trained on Arthur through dark lashes. He was then rewarded with the warm, heavy weight of Arthur’s cock freshly on his tongue and the slight taste of salt.

 

Never once did Arthur’s hand leave Dutch’s hair, and with his grip be began to guide the other over his cock, back and forth at a rhythmic pace. Each thrust back into Dutch’s mouth, his dick would push farther, until Dutch was sputtering again around him. He continued this routine, watching eagerly as his mentor became increasingly disheveled; face flushed, hands squeezing Arthur’s thighs tightly and heavy, stuttered breathing through his nose. 

 

And then there was the sound of footsteps, quick and light against the carpeted floor just outside of the door to the office. Along with it were low hushed murmurs, assumably between a few staff members.

 

Arthur tensed and held Dutch in place halfway along his cock. He must have heard it too, breathing carefully through his nose and flicking dark eyes up to look at the other man. Arthur could practically hear him now, “ _ don’t make a sound, _ ” except that he couldn’t, because Dutch had cock shoved in his mouth. 

 

The footsteps stopped in front of the door for a few moments, then slowly retreated with the voices, and the hallway grew quiet again. Arthur waited a few moments more before resuming his movements, this time with eagerness to reach climax.

 

Arthur dragged Dutch’s slicked and swollen lips over his length a few more times before reaching his edge, hand pressing down hard against the back of Dutch’s head and forcing him even to his hips one last time. Dutch’s throat contracted around Arthur’s cock, nearly choking again as the other’s cum shot down his throat.

 

Swept away by the pleasure that flooded Arthur’s body, he groaned softly and kneaded Dutch’s now mussed hair. Light and airy, Arthur allowed himself to drift through the height of his orgasm unrushed like he typically was on other occasions in camp. He reveled, silently, that Dutch had just allowed him to fuck his throat— _ after all these years _ —so compliantly. The thought lingered only moments longer and slowly faded, bringing Arthur back into the current moment, tucked away in the Mayor’s office postcoital with Dutch.

 

Releasing Dutch for the first time since they begun, he slid back off Arthur’s cock and sat back on his knees, lips glistening with a mix of cum and spit. He was just like a photograph, the dim lighting in the office perfectly lining the edges and curves of Dutch’s face. Arthur was careful to remember how he looked, saving the image for a page in his journal.

 

Interrupting, Dutch spoke, “give me your handkerchief,” voice crackling. 

 

Arthur tried to reply, but the words caught in his throat, so instead he simply nodded and pulled out the soft cloth from his breast pocket. 

 

Dutch plucked the cloth from Arthur’s fingers and unceremoniously popped open the buttons to his own pants, fumbling slightly to clean off the inside of his union suit and cock. His movements were quick and his hands trembled slightly, betraying embarrassment.

 

“Dutch, did you…?”

 

“ _ Yes _ , now, put yourself away.” 

 

Arthur brought a hand up to his mouth and scrubbed the hair around his lips, smoothing out the smirk threatening to creep across his features. 

 

_ Oh _ , Arthur thought,  _ he’d managed to make Dutch come too. _

 

It wasn’t too long after that Dutch returned Arthur’s handkerchief and stood up on his feet, rebuttoning the front of his trousers. He lingered in front of Arthur, holding his gaze while putting his hat back atop his head. 

 

“Shall we return to the party, Mr. Morgan?” The suggestion was accompanied by a small smile that played across Dutch’s lips.

 

“After you, Dutch.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to contribute another work to the Vandermorgan content and write something I don't see happen a lot in the ship. I hope y'all enjoy.


End file.
